That Good Night
by freya kurenai
Summary: "Do not go gentle into that good night... Rage, rage, against the dying of the light." // Why Prussia still exists.
1. Chapter 0: Prologue: The Dreams

_"Do not go gentle into that good night_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light."_

_-- Dylan Thomas_

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

It was one of those nights again.

Rather, it was one of those _dreams _again.

He has them every night, and he still can't piece together enough scenes to make sense of it all.

First, there's chirping. And at first it sounds like Gil-bird, but Gil-bird never sounded like _that_. Then, it doesn't sound like chirping at all. He doesn't know what to call it at that point, doesn't even know what to feel about it, because it lulls him to sleep and sends shivers down his spine at the same time.

Then, there're the voices. Familiar voices, to be sure. They call him, and that's usually when the dream ends. He doesn't wake up, but the rest of his sleep is undisturbed. When he opens his eyes, he's in his room, and its morning.

He'd look at his window, and frown for a few moments, before realizing that the dream has been torn apart. Gil-bird would hop into his vision, tweeting and cocking her head at him, as if asking him what's wrong. Gilbert would try to answer, but then he realizes he has_ nothing _to answer with. So he simply shrugs, and greets his little pet with a sleepy smile.

And before he gets up and gets out of bed, the dream is forgotten.

Prussia yawns and stretches, and when he sits at the breakfast table, he smiles at his brother and his brother smiles back. There's wurst for breakfast, and eggs, and Gil-bird herself is pecking at one of them.

He doesn't notice the way Germany stares far too long at him and Gil-bird, and the coldness in his eyes is gone by the time Prussia asks for seconds.

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_incipit_

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**Author's Notes: **For the author who brought us 'On The Bound' and 'Into the Face of the Beguiled'... the one and only, **tatterdemalion**! :D For her awesome prowess in writing, and for the fact that her skills are currently present in the Hetalia-side of the universe. Also, my gratitude to her-- 'On The Bound' is truly a great story... 'Into the Face of the Beguiled' is still in progress, but if you like brothel-time, look it up! :D

Now, about the fic... This is my headcanon's take on why Prussia still exists. I had this idea in the shower, that's why it is strange. It will be Austria x Prussia, but not for a while. The chapters will be short, because I'm just letting my hands work until they say stop. I've got three chapters up, and will upload them ASAP.


	2. Chapter 1: The Morning After

On a piece of note paper, he scribbles, _Ivan's looking at me funny_. He folds it, and tosses it over to his brother, just as England objects to another of America's proposals.

Ludwig glances at him, then at Russia, and then scribbles something down on the paper. When he catches it, he has to stifle a snort at his reply, _He's not._

As he coos to Gil-bird about how mean his brother was being, Ludwig looks back at Russia. Their eyes meet, and then Russia's eyes stray to Gilbert. The smile on his face has never been as cold.

The meeting ends, and Gilbert decides to go bother his favorite pianist.

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

"He tried, again, last night."

"Da."

"Aster almost swallowed it."

"But he did not manage to?"

"It pecked his mouth into a bloody pulp."

"...Da."

"How is Belarus?"

"The bruise is fading. But she can not forget what did it to her."

"Can she remember?"

"N-yet."

"..."

"Tonight, it is Avstriya's turn... da?"

"Ja."

"On znaet, kak yego nazvatʹ yeshche?"

"...Nein."

"Chert poberi."

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_caesura_

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**Author's Note: **Basically a little interlude of sorts. Yes, Russia's in on this too. XD This chappie is the aftermath of the 3rd chapter. Pardon my non-linear narratives, my hand moves in mysterious ways~

According to Google Translate:

**_N-yet _**- No (Russ.)

_**Avstriya **- _Austria (Russ.)

**_Ja_ - **Yes (Ger.)

**_On znaet, kak yego nazvatʹ yeshche? _**- Does he know what to call him yet? (Russ.)

**_Nein _**- No (Ger.)

**_Chert poberi - _**Damn it. (Russ.)


	3. Chapter 2: A Visit to Roderich's

"Hey! Anybody home?!"

Refraining from slamming his hands down on the piano keys, Austria settled for twitching and fisting his hands, mentally counting down the seconds until his personal space was invaded by a certain egotistical nation. _Five... four... three... two..._

"Knew I'd find you here, Roddie~" _One._

Gilbert grinned as he leaned in through the window, a crazy glint in his eyes and a yellow chick on his head. He didn't know what annoyed him more.

"What do you want, Beildschmidt?" he asked, and already his patience was tested with that question, as all he really wanted to do was shove the albino out of his window.

"Oh, nothing... 'M just bored, is all. West's being boring, and Ita-chan's got dibs on bothering him for today. France isn't home, and your wife's shopping with Kiku-- I'm not putting my awesome manliness on the line just to bother _her_." with this, Gilbert felt he'd explained himself quite well, and proceeded to throw a leg over the sill, in order to better annoy the other nation.

"So you bother me, instead?" Austria frowned at him (_which would never accomplish anything, really_). The Prussian stuck his tongue out at him, which was followed by a happy chirp of affirmation from the chick atop his head.

"Someone has to make sure you don't die from lameness, Roddie." the other nation replied, almost magnanimously. Looking around, he found his favorite armchair already beside the piano and walked towards it with a little smile.

"Looks like you were expecting me." he threw himself down onto the comfortable cushions, sighing happily as it succumbed to his weight. Gil-bird peeped as she found a place between her master and the velvet upholstery, and master and pet shared a quiet moment of sheer appreciation.

Sneaking a glance at them, Austria couldn't help but break his irritated glowering to smile a little smile of his own. Personal reasons aside, the nation did look quite adorable, sitting there with a content look on his face--

--_and a demon-bird snuggled up beside him._

Austria flinched inwardly at this thought, and took a breath to calm himself. It would do him no good to be even more agitated _now_-- tonight was his turn, after all, and he'd been hoping for a chance to use his sword ever since the anniversary of the Wall (_technically, that night was Ludwig's turn, but Russia and Austria joined him anyway, payback and added fulfilment and whatnot_).

"Of course I wasn't. It's just been sometime since your last 'visit', and I never wanted to touch anything with your germs on it." he replies smoothly, the ensuing banter between them a nice enough background for Bach.

"Aw, say what you want, Roddie. You missed my awesomeness."

"Like a death sentence, Bieldschmidt."

"I'm flattered, Edelstein."

"God forbid you'd ever be complimented properly."

"I always am, you just never notice."

"And who would put up with you to that extent?"

"West, though he doesn't say it that often; Ita-chan, 'cause he just _loves_ me; Francis and 'Tonio-- Bad Company Trio days and all that; _you_ of course, though you're just too lame to admit it; and Gil-bird, 'cause she's just as awesome as I am."

A chirp, and a note missed. _Damned bird._

The music reaches a crescendo, and he opens his mouth to snap back, and that's when Gilbert interrupts him with a yawn. His hands pause over the keys again, and with poorly hidden concern, he asks, "Tired, Bieldschmidt?"

Blood-red eyes are half-lidded, and the frown on his face is that of a child whose descent to sleep has been delayed. "No shit... stupid dreams..." the second part of his sentence was mumbled, and Austria was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear it.

"What were they about? The dreams..." Last night was Ludwig's. He hadn't spoken with him yet, he'd missed the meeting earlier that day. What had happened?

With another yawn and an attempt to sink deeper into the cushions, Gilbert muttered, "Can't remember much... never can... th'was barking... and... and voices..." it was only after it became apparent that the other nation couldn't elaborate any further that Austria found himself able to pry his eyes away from the prone figure in his armchair.

His gaze settled on the ball of fluff wedged between Gilbert and the cushions, and for a moment, he envisioned himself grabbing it and tossing it into the roaring fire in the kitchen.

Then it opened one eye, meeting his gaze with a beady one of its own.

It chirped, and he glared at it, while Gilbert slept on.

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_caesura_

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**Author's Notes:** After re-reading the chapter, I just realized... Freud's Austrian. Roddie asked about Gilbert's dreams. XD (-- is shot). LOL. Nevermind that, then! Here we observe Gilbert's visit to Austria's... and apparently, Austria is also in on the 'demon-bird' movement. Hmmm...!


	4. Chapter 3: The Night Before

"Blackie! Berlitz! Aster! Come!"

Before, he felt guilty for having to rely on his loyal companions on this mission, but after a few years and some near-fatal expeditions, he reasons that while it was a noble thing to die while rescuing his brother, it was also a very stupid idea, which completely defeated his purpose, which was, to actually live _with_ his brother.

The sounds of rumbling footfalls could've woken the dead, and sometimes he hoped that his brother would hear them and promptly wake up, but hoping only gets one so far. He flattened himself against a tree, and in seconds they were at his sides, panting harshly with their hackles raised.

They were going deeper into the forest, but he could still see Gilbert, and he wasn't too far away from him. Sensing no imminent danger, he followed his brother, and was in turn followed by the three canines.

Ahead of them, the chick chirped gaily, though the sound was like nails on glass to his ears. Blackie, whose sensitive ears had long since adjusted to this monstrosity, gave a growl of distaste. Berlitz jogged closer to Gilbert, and Aster joined him.

Judging by the noise that demon-bird was making, they were getting closer to the gateway. He had to hurry, and he also had to be on time-- and in this particular situation, the two instances were very difficult to achieve.

The night was dark all around them, and like all the nights before, there were no stars, no moon. When the clock struck the hour before midnight, he'd been ready. And yet he could only watch as his brother walked out the front door, with that demon-bird leading him. The last night time he'd tried to touch him, to pull him away, he'd been whipped with an electric shock that left him cringing in pain for a good half-hour.

As if this was its way of saying, _I get a head start, remember?_

Coming back to the present, Ludwig frowned as Gilbert stopped walking. So they had arrived. Blackie and Berlitz were barking madly, flanking Gilbert's sides, but Aster had gone a few paces further, facing off with the demon-bird.

And with an insane caw, it flew towards Aster just as the door appeared. Aster dodged it, but in doing so allowed Gilbert to walk towards the door. In his mind, Ludwig chanted, _wait, wait, be patient, not now, just wait a little bit more..._

Somewhere in his house, the clock struck midnight.

The edges of the door were bathed in hellish white light, and Gilbert stretched out his hand to grasp the doorknob.

Aster swatted the demon-bird with his paw, and once it was down, clamped his jaws around it.

And Ludwig called out, _"Brother!"_

Gilbert's eyes widened, for a fraction of a second, before closing once again, and his body crumpled to the ground. Aster whined and yelped, his mouth shut tight, until it snapped open with a spray of blood. The demon-bird, whose feathers were matted with blood, flew out and above them, screeching and chirping and, in the language of the dead, hurling curses upon the animal.

Ludwig raised his gun and fired at it, once, twice, three times, until it finally flew away, probably to lick its wounds. Concern and rage battled for control inside the nation, as he watched Berlitz and Blackie huddle close to the wounded Aster, and as he walked towards the prone figure of his older brother.

Gilbert was asleep, as he had always been. The door begun to disappear, fading into wisps of smoke and the shadows on the trees. He hooked his arms under his brother's knees and behind his back, lifting him up almost effortlessly. With a quiet voice, he called his three companions, and started on the way back home.

These nightly battles were gruesome on levels he never could fully comprehend-- _but they were necessary._

For the life of his brother, he would endure quite a lot.

In the distance, a screeching, yowling sound could be heard. The bird was in pain. But it would return.

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_caesura_

_+-+-+_

**Author's Notes: **And the truth is revealed!! o___O Gil-bird, the demon-bird of Hetalia, is trying to lead Gilbert Bieldschmidt into the land of the dead! (is mistakenly reminded of Sweeny Todd, Demon Barber of Fleet Street, and Pluto, the Demon Dog of Kuroshitsuji) And Germany, Russia and Austria are battling her, night after night, for Gilbert's life! O_o dundunDUN!!! XD Hope that cleared things up, ya?


	5. Chapter 4: Roderich's Turn: Preparation

Ten minutes to eleven.

During the day, he'd looked up at the sky, noting how blue and wide it seemed to be. There were clouds floating here and there, and the silence of the morning had been undisturbed by any noise, until that horrid chirping came. The owner of the bird was nowhere in sight, and for a moment, he felt certain that it had gone against its nature, and had called for Gilbert in the early hours of the day.

But then, it chirped over his head for only a spell, and anyone else would have thought it a hallucination.

Austria knew better. The bird was mocking him, maybe even laughing at him. It had never spoken to him, though Russia and Germany had assured him that it could talk. But even so, he could understand.

_Why bother calling his name, when it is not yours to call?_

Five minutes. The forest that had never existed beyond his fences grew ever darker, but he was prepared. Slowly, the stars in the sky flickered out of sight. The half-moon began to fade, until finally, there was nothing.

Shadows played across Austria's glasses, and he knew without a shadow of doubt, that within the forest, the demon-bird was waiting.

And following it, as one in a trance, would be Gilbert Bieldschmidt.

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

_Gilbert heard nothing, saw nothing, and felt nothing._

_Save for the pulling, the tugging that never ceased. It was never painful, and always gentle. Like the hand of a mother, though he had never known a woman in that way._

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

He never believed in giving the demon-bird a head start-- it was cowardice, it was a sign of weakness. It implied that it was stronger, and if it truly were, this game would have ended long ago.

But perhaps there were others who watched over them, others who knew that they would not let go of the nation that easily. And then, there could be others who saw it as an actual game of life and death and chance. Austria didn't care.

Now, at this moment, nothing mattered, except for that man, and the fact that by a minute after midnight, he would still be with them.

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_caesura_

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**Author's Notes: **This is the first of three chapters that begin with 'Roderich's'. :D I'll be uploading the next one in a few seconds~~ Thank you to all those who have been reviewing and following this story. My gratitude to you cannot be expressed in words, so let me express it in Prussia-love~~! ^o^ Oh, and the Austria/Prussia/Austria-romance-ness will come... It's just being difficult, is all.

Anyway, Merry Christmas to y'all~! XD


	6. Chapter 5: Roderich's Turn: Battle

The demon-bird would still not speak, but at the very least, it had taken a form with which he could thoroughly express his anger upon.

It was shaped vaguely like a human, with legs and a distinguishable head, but the rest of its body was anything but. There were feathers, long and yellow and dripping with blood. It stood awkwardly, as if it was not used to standing on two legs of such a length, but the malicious glee in those beady eyes, Austria was most familiar with.

It opened its mouth to let out an interested caw, and under the tinny sound, the nation could make out words.

_"You fight with me tonight?"_ it ruffled its feathers and tilted its head, cawing once again, _"Even as he walks ever closer to his resting place?"_

Somewhere in the forest, Gilbert was following the shadows which would inevitably lead him to the gateway. A quarter of the hour had already passed, and they had the rest of the night to deal with.

With a smirk that did not seem too out of place on his face, Roderich answered, "Tonight we shall fight. And again, I will pull him away from the door, and away from your hands."

The demon-bird's reply was a loud screeching, which sent the ravens in the forest out of their perches, and which echoed infinitely all around them. The sounds were enough to make Austria wish his ears would simply bleed, instead of feeling them rattle and narrow.

_"What fun, what fun!"_

There was a sweep of feathers, and all of a sudden, he was facing off with nothing but the trees.

Austria closed his eyes. He'd learned long ago not to rely on his eyes when dealing with the demon-bird, and that his other senses were more than eager to take the lead. The hissing of air to his left resulted in a dangerous arc of sharpened steel, and a squawk, and the splatter of blood.

"Don't think this will be easy, _you vile demon_."

The pressure of claws on his leg turned into a searing burn moments later, but Austria simply bit his lip and drove his sword behind him. Neither wanted to give their enemy the satisfaction of hearing their triumph, thus the silence was broken by mere whispers of curses in languages long past.

After almost half an hour, by Austria's watch at least, of dodging and slashing, the puddles of blood began to resemble large teardrops. Austria was sure he'd managed to put out one of its eyes, but he'd paid the bill with a claw to his shoulder and back.

_"You fight well for a coward..."_

The words were lost between the feathers falling and the whistling of steel, and it took the nation several moments to realize that it had been an echo.

Glancing at the watch on his wrist, he cursed audibly. It had stopped working, maybe minutes ago when the demon-bird had spoken. The time on it was eleven fifty-five.

After sheathing his sword, Austria leapt into the thick forest, running through the bushes and jumping over the overly-large roots. The air had begun to feel lighter, a sign that the midnight hour was near.

He had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting the other nation's name, as it would only make the forest deeper and darker. Taking turns away from his make-shift path, a flash of white caught his eye as he was about to make a sharp turn to the right.

Changing tracks, Austria ran towards the figure, the rhythmic pounding in his chest a reminder of the seconds that ticked by.

And there, just a few feet away from him, stood Gilbert Bieldschmidt.

Beyond him was the door, gathering itself from the darkness of the forest. The demon-bird was perched atop it, covered in blood and wounds-- _which were slowly healing_.

For a moment, he was stunned. _So this was what it did to get the door from the gateway._ The thoughts swirled in his mind, before he noticed that Gilbert's hand was already on the doorknob, twisting it out of its lock.

In a distant part of his consciousness, Austria could see the grandfather clock in his hallway getting ready to toll the hour.

He opened his mouth and called out, _"Bieldschmidt!" _At this, the demon-bird let out a laugh-like squawk.

There was an audible click as the door opened.

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_caesura_

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**Author's Notes: **The next update will most likely be sometime near the end of January, because the beginning of January is the time of prelims. So... here's a cliffie for y'all to tear into pieces! XD


	7. Chapter 6: Roderich's Turn: Rescue

"Bieldschmidt! _Bieldschmidt_!"

What was going on? Why wasn't he responding? The door seemed much too real now, with its hinges creaking loudly as it opened. The demon-bird cackled madly, and the triumphant tone in its voice only fueled the nation's hysteria.

Gilbert wasn't stopping; he was going to go through that door--

_"Bieldschmidt!!"_

The door was wide open now, and Austria faltered at the sight of what lay beyond the door. Before he could master his voice again, however, the demon-bird flew off its perch and swooped down towards him, its beady eyes locked with his wide one's.

"Prussia!"

Abruptly, the door slammed shut at the name. Gilbert was thrown back with the force, toppling over and landing on his back, fast asleep yet again. Austria's instincts took over in the nick of time, shielding him from the demon bird's attack with his sword, and there was a gush of blood over both of them as the demon-bird's flank was ripped open by the sword's edge.

Inexplicably, the nation could hear the final tolls of the clock-- midnight had come, and midnight was going. The forest was disappearing, just as the door became one with the trees around it. Slowly, and after the final toll sounded, the dark woods gave way to Austria's backyard.

Looking up, he saw a tall figure kneeling beside Gilbert. His long scarf fluttered in the wind, which had come with his presence. It was a cold, icy wind-- the breaths of a freezing Russia.

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

The trip back to Germany's house was short and silent. Austria could feel the larger nation's cold glare on his back all the way, but he never acknowledged it. Gilbert slept soundly in his arms, and it was like this that they arrived at Germany's door.

Ludwig himself was sitting there, surrounded by his dogs and nursing a mug of beer. When he saw them approaching, he leapt from his seat and rushed towards them. Austria knew they didn't exactly paint the prettiest picture, and as much as he hated to admit it, most of that was his fault.

His clothes were a tattered, bloody mess-- Mariazell actually lay flat against his head, for once, and his sword would surely rust if it could, drenched in blood as they were. Russia himself was spotless, but the grim look on his face did nothing to assure the other nation.

"Mein Gott..."

"Ludwig, I--"

"Explanations can be made later, da? The little one is getting cold from the breeze, it would be best to go inside now."

Germany's face worked for a moment, torn between several conflicting emotions, but in the end he nodded and led the way into the house. The dogs whimpered as they saw Gilbert's unconscious form, but the wounds in Aster's mouth had yet to heal so his came out smaller than the others'. Austria spared them a glance before closing the door, and in their earnest and concerned gazes he saw the question they could not voice.

"He's alright..." he found himself saying. Aster whined quietly, and Berlitz nuzzled closer to him. Only Blackie held his gaze, and then after a moment, he too turned away.

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_caesura_

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**Author's Notes: **Just one more midterm exam to go! :D As a great big fat bonus to my happiness, I PASSED my STATISTICS MIDTERM!! *hops around in joy* ...so, here's the end of your suffering. Erk.


	8. Chapter 7: Questions

"You fought it, da?"

"Yes, and it... it healed itself, simply by perching on that door."

"And when you called for him, the little one, he did not stop?"

"No. I tried many times, but-- I _called _his name, Ludwig. I _did_."

Austria's insistence fell on deaf ears. They were in Gilbert's room, and Ludwig had tucked his brother back into his bed. Before Russia had begun to question him, he'd been given a change of clothes by the eerily silent nation-- even then, Ludwig had not spoken to him. It was unnerving.

"Have you perhaps wondered... if the name you call him by... is not the name meant for you?"

Russia's matter-of-fact tone pricked at Austria's conscience. He ignored it, though, and turned sharply to the other nation, scowling and gripping the arms of the chair he was seated upon.

"What are you implying, Braginsky? That the name I've called him for the past hundred years, the name that _I _use when_ my _turn is up is _not_ the name thst should save him on those nights?" the venom in his voice didn't affect the tall nation at all. Instead, he nodded. "Da."

Before Austria could reply, Ludwig raised a hand for silence. "This is not the time for this. I think you should go back home, Austria. Russia, I thank you for coming to my brother's aid. But it is far too early for this conversation."

Casting sidelong glances at each other, Russia and Austria agreed slowly. Russia took his leave first, nodding to both of them, letting his gaze linger momentarily on the sleeping nation before walking out of the room. Austria waited until his footsteps could no longer be heard before he looked at Germany.

The nation was sitting beside his brother's bed, brows furrowed and frowning slightly.

"Ludwig..."

"Auf wiedersen, Austria."

And that, he supposed, was that.

.~*~.~*~.~*~.

Except, of course, it wasn't.

When Austria returned to his home and his bed, he found himself unable to sleep. In those early hours of another day, he found himself seriously considering Russia's question--

_Muttering darkly to himself, Austria recalled the nights he'd spent hollering the other nation's name into the forest of the demon-bird's imaginings, the relief that he'd felt as soon as the door disappeared and Gilbert fell to the ground, blissfully unaware and still very much there. What was that -for lack of a better term- communist bastard thinking, anyway? They'd settled this name business long ago, and it had never failed them before._

(_Well, not until _now_, it hasn't_, a quietly chiding voice in his head supplied)

--the demon-bird's words--

_He squashed the feeling of guilt bubbling in his stomach-- they'd settled on that long ago, too. They'd accepted the fact that they were being a tad too selfish, that they were blatantly keeping Gilbert Bieldschmidt from his eternal rest... but they had their reasons. Ludwig, certainly. Ivan, as well, though he sometimes wondered about them. As for himself...--_

_It was best not to think of _that _at all._

--and, perhaps the most pressing of all, the scene he witnessed beyond the doorway.

(Unconsciously, he gripped the sheets his hands were resting upon, and his heart beat's pace began to pick up speed)

_It was a throne room, and the coat of arms-- the flag above it-- it was of the Black Eagle. It was Prussia's, it was Prussia's flag. And there was a man there, young and handsome, his features speaking of royalty that had long left the world. He sat at a window sill, and he held a flute to his lips. _

_His name, as the older nations knew quite well, was Frederick._

As if drawing strength from the emotions he stubbornly kept in check, the final conclusion he reached caused his entire body to go slack, and his eyes widened as they gazed sightlessly at the ceiling.

For a hundred years, they had been pulling Gilbert Bieldschmidt away from his king.

.~*~.~*~.~*~.

If questioned personally, Austria would perhaps think it was because of the lack of sleep, or maybe a wound from the demon-bird, or maybe the blood that had splattered on him had contained some sort of poison. Those who knew him well enough would have offered (_albeit uncertainly_) something along the lines of artistic frustration, or just frustration in general. But either way, no one (_not even Austria himself_) could honestly find a logical reason for Austria's actions that afternoon during the United Nations meeting.

_"Do you miss them?"_

_"What... do you mean?"_

_"Do you regret-- do you miss Frederick? Your king?"_

_"I know who he is-- what the hell are you saying?"_

_"Damn it, Bieldschmidt, answer my question!"_

_"I don't-- I--"_

_"Do you want to be with them, is that what you dream of?"_

_"N--no... I mean... you... I..."_

_"Well?"_

_"I don't... I don't know--"_

_"Yes or no, Bieldschmidt! Just answer, yes or no!"_

_"Stop it!!! I-- I-- I can't--- Fritz-- an--- I--..."_

_"Brother!"_

_._

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_caesura_

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**Author's Notes: **Double update's because they're awesome. :D And, did anyone catch it? The hintings of that other pairing? XD I'll make it easy-- I say no to German-cest. :D


	9. Chapter 8: At Ludwig's House

On the day following his close brush with eternal rest, Gilbert Bieldschmidt awoke uncharacteristically early, and, most oddly, without the aid of his ever-present companion, Gil-bird. He felt less than awesome about this, and the feeling only grew worse as he realized that the pounding he'd been hearing was going on inside his head.

This seemed to set the tune for the rest of his day, as he groggily dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen, to find that West had not yet woken up.

The nation headed straight for the coffee maker, which then turned out to be broken.

This would normally have sent him into a loud rant, but the hammer in his head thought otherwise, so he simply turned to raid the cupboards for something to soothe his head, and in his search he found an old box of teabags, which he scowled at and subsequently tossed to the counter. Although he didn't really like the stuff, it was better than nothing (_not to mention beer, which would only get him a scolding-- and probably make his head hurt more_).

A kettle was placed on the stove, and he watched it idly, until it whistled. He poured the hot water into a cup where a teabag waited, and sat at the table, waiting for it too cool.

As per usual, he couldn't remember much about the dream he most surely had last night, but he was fairly certain that it also had something to do with his less than awesome mood. Everything seemed bent on furtherin his sour disposition that day, except the cup of tea which looked more and more promising by the minute.

With this thought, his hand reached for the cup of tea, absentmindedly doing so in the way Austria would have done it (_one hand under the saucer, the other holding the cup up to his lips_-- _pinky out_), and the hammer that had been at his head since before he woke up chose that precise moment to come down with an unearthly force that left him groaning in pain on his brother's kitchen floor.

It was not a good day for Gilbert Bieldschmidt, and, sadly, it wasn't about to get any better.

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

Ludwig awoke to a crash, and in seconds he was out of bed and down the stairs, two at a time. The sound came from the kitchen, and against all logic, he hoped that it was only Veneziano with an upturned pot of pasta sauce.

It wasn't. It was a broken cup and saucer, and his brother groaning in pain on the linoleum floor. For one terrifying second, the copper liquid beside him looked like blood.

But only for a moment, and after that, Ludwig hurried to his brother's side, catching swear words in their native tongue and guttural moans that made him think of dark forests and demonic birds. Propping Gilbert up against the wall, he calmly and quickly cleaned up the mess of broken shards, dumping them into the trash bin, and sponged up the tea with a towel before disposing of it as well.

The rest of the morning was spent with an ice pack and the sound of Gilbert's breaths coming in uneven gasps, and it was only at around noon that the headache had subsided enough for Gilbert to remind him of the UN meeting.

"Don't tell me... you're actually thinking... of skipping the meeting, brother?" there was a teasing edge to his brother's abnormally flat voice, and Ludwig found himself seriously considering the matter. Prussia saw this and snorted, shoving the ice pack at his chest.

"Get up-- the world needs your ability to keep it in check... and my awesomeness, which is a given."

He didn't want to go, he didn't want his brother to go, and he most certainly didn't want to leave the house with his brother the way he was-- pale and worn and with shadows in his eyes. These thoughts were unceremoniously flushed down the drain, as Gilbert smirked at him in an almost perfectly Gilbert-like way that made him think that _maybe_, just _maybe_, things were going to be alright, and Ludwig nodded.

"Of course, brother."

Later, he would wish that he'd never left the house.

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_caesura_

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**Author's Notes: **-__- This was supposed to come out last Feb14, as a Not-So-Happy Valentine's Day gift to you lovely reviewers. However, this semester's PE102 forced me to practice Hip-hop for a grade. I apologize for its lateness. The next update will be on Mar2, after I submit my Final Speech Outline.


	10. Chapter 9: A Request

The brothers arrived at the conference at their usual time, though Italy Veneziano noticed that something was wrong almost immediately -- the way Germany refused to leave his brother's side and the way Prussia looked as pale as the dead spoke of something deeper than their usual arguments.

"Ve, Germany, Prussia, good afternoon." he greeted, a bit warily. Germany nodded at him, and Prussia gave him a rather wan grin. "Hey, Ita."

Glancing at Germany and seeing the grim look in his eyes, Veneziano wisely chose to sit next to his twin during the meeting. There was something off about them, and he couldn't decided who worried him more.

The other nations were also quite surprised at the lack of 'Awesome' in the moments before the meeting, and though some were truly curious (_France and Spain, for example_), most just saw it as a gift from the gods and prayed for it to actually last the entire day (_that would be the rest of the world_).

Austria came in just before America, an odd thing in itself, so he did not witness the oddity on the German side of the table. He also missed Latvia's fainting spell when Russia went past the Baltic brothers without so much as a glance, but the other nations didn't notice it either.

It was as he was listening to yet another of America's ridiculous proposals that he noticed it-- the chirping and snickering that he'd long grown accustomed to was not present. He looked discreetly towards the nations to his far left, passing over the shaken Baltics and an irate Belarus, to a trio he'd never thought to see in broad daylight.

Prussia, looking less than alert and missing a small ball of yellow fluff on his head, sat between his brother and Russia, in what could only be -_in Austria's eyes, and in the case of the other two nations_- tense silence.

Russia caught his eye, and the unspoken _We talk later, da?_ was answered by more silence. The first half of the meeting passed on in its usual way, and if Prussia dozed in and out several times, no one else knew but the nations on either side of him.

.~*~.~*~.~*~.

England called for a half-hour recess after America's fourth attempt to inject the Transformers into his plans to end the war in the East. A mass exodus of nations occured in five minutes flat, and by the time Canada -the last nation to ever leave the meeting- slunk out of the door, there were only four others left in the room.

Prussia crossed his arms on the table in front of him, and laid his head down on it. His unnaturally quiet voice was muffled, but Germany heard him just fine when he called, "Hey, West...?"

"Yes, brother?" there was a note of urgency in his voice, a desperation Russia had heard only once during their nightly adventures. His violet eyes rested on the Prussian's albino head, and his hand followed suit. Prussia didn't seem to mind this, and continued, "Can I ask for a favor...?"

By this time, Austria was already standing a little to their right, and he heard Prussia's request just as clearly as the other two nations.

"Could you... look for Gil-bird for me?"

The bloodlust in Russia's eyes did not escape Austria, and if he were anymore willing, he would've admitted that it might just have mirrored his own. Germany's face turned grim, but his voice was steady when he inquired, "You're still not feeling well, brother?"

Prussia mumbled in agreement, and two pairs of violet eyes pinned Germany with a questioning gaze.

"She wasn't... at home... thought maybe... she went ahead... might be teasing... Greece's cats..."

The albino raised his head at this, and turned to look at his brother. His eyes were glassy, and his voice was laced with the pain of jackhammers in one's brain when he spoke. "West?"

Germany smiled, almost kindly if not for the hatred and malice dancing behind his eyes, and nodded. "I will. You stay here and rest, alright? Russia will look after you."

Looking to his left, Prussia let out a small 'oh' of surprise when he saw Ivan. A tiny smile worked its way onto his lips, before his head fell sideways to his arms. "Hey." Russia returned this barely audible greeting with a slow smile, his hand patting Gilbet's head gently.

Germany glanced at Austria and nodded, a variation of that eternally damning promise, _We'll talk about this later_. He left without a sound, and the hall was silent once again.

This did not last for long as, after holding a fruitless staring contest with the top of Russia's head, Austria decided that he had had enough.

"Bieldschmidt... can I ask you something?"

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_caesura_

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**Author's Notes: **Roddie, NUUUU!! *flails* ... Yep, that's the way I react to this chapter every time I look at it. Not to psyche you good reviewers out, but... CODE RED, CODE RED: The s*'s about to hit the fan, I REPEAT, the S* IS ABOUT TO **HIT THE FAN**. I can only hope I aimed it well and it collided okay. ^^;;

**Randomnity: **(because I MUST share this~) I've just fulfiled one of my dreams! I was a (mini)secretary yesterday for a couple of hours~ And, yeah, that's a dream of mine. 8D

Next chapter will be on March22, and it'll most like be a double update. My finals have arriveth. o____o Bear with me, good people!


	11. Chapter 10: Prussia's Screams

Under his hand, Russia felt the smaller nation jump slightly at Austria's voice. He wasn't any more aware of his surroundings than when Russia had taken the seat at his left, before the meeting began. He tried to convey this to Austria, but he was not looking at him.

A few more steps brought him to Gilbert's elbow, and he laid a hand on his shoulder just as Russia moved his arm to around Prussia's back. Their gazes met like flint and steel, and the sparks were sudden and flashing.

"...Roddie?"

He'd turned his head to the right, and his bleary eyes were looking at Austria as if he was a figure from his dreams.

_Frederick_, the other nation thought wildly, and in that second his mouth ran away with his unconscious.

"Do you miss them?"

Russia made to pull Gilbert to his chest, but Austria intercepted this by pulling Gilbert's shoulder back, making his head loll backwards for a moment before he caught himself.

"What... do you mean?" The look in Gilbert's eyes wasn't exactly asleep anymore, but neither was it very coherent. Still, Austria plowed on.

"Do you regret--" No, that wasn't it, "Do you miss Frederick? Your king?"

He tried to remember, what they were in the times before, how he acted when they were on the battlefield, and all Austria could see was Prussia, a smirk on his face, and a young King's smile over his shoulder.

"I know who he is-- what the hell are you saying?" Not asleep, but not aware as well-- _what was going on? What was Austria saying? What was happening? _In Gilbert's mind, there was the smell of tea, and a succession of notes.

"Avstriya, that is quite enough, da." Russia was on his feet now, and his hand had moved to Gilbert's other shoulder. Austria shot him a venomous glare, which he returned with a colder look.

"Shut up, Braginsky." he returned his gaze to Prussia, upon whom confusion and desperation seemed to alight.

"What are you..."

"Damn it, Bieldschmidt, answer my question!"

"Avstriya!" Russia was moving towards him, his hand leaving Gilbert's shoulder. There was a cold fury in his eyes, and once again Austria felt sure that they shared the same expression.

"Stay out of this, Braginsky." he spat, as the larger nation grabbed his collar and glared at him directly.

Gilbert was feeling more and more lost than ever. This was much, _much _worse than his dreams, than that time he heard Old Fritz calling his name-

_"Prussia, am I dead?"_

"I don't-- I--" _Frederick, Fritz, his father, the King, his Kings, the palace... _It was getting so difficult to breathe, and his lungs hitched painfully after the sparse syllables he'd barely spoken.

"I am warning you, Avstriya, if you don't--"

"Do you want to be with them, is that what you dream of?" Russia's grip was tightening, but Austria managed to aim a kick that made the other nation drop him to avoid the contact. He used this chance to shove Russia to the floor, after which he spun the chair Gilbert sat upon around so that they were face to face. With his eyes and his hands he pinned him, and a part of him will remember the terror-stricken look on Gilbert's face much later, when it is far too late.

_The Black Eagle, 'To each his own', the flute, the flute he'd made for his birthday, his father_

"N--no... I mean... you... I..."

_"Will this last forever, Gilbert?"_

"Well?" Austria pressed, as Russia got to his feet and attempted to pry him off the trembling nation. This time it was Austria who got shoved to the floor, but this did not faze him at all, and as Russia's fist began its descent on him, he raised an arm and yelled out, "Yes or no, Bieldschmidt! Just answer, _yes or no!_"

The blow connected, and Austria grunted in pain before pulling Russia's scarf and throwing a punch of his own at the nation. Russia's head snapped to the side at the force of the blow, but he recovered just as quickly to smirk at Austria, as if to say, _do you think _that _would be enough?_

Before either nation could pull back their fists for a second time, Gilbert screeched, "Stop it!!!"

Russia got off the other nation in a hurry, coming to Gilbert's side in one step, his hands rubbing the other's shoulders, trying in vain to calm him down. Austria stared and the fog that developed in his mind since early in the morning began to lift as he saw tears running down the Prussian's cheeks.

His eyes were wide, and they saw nothing-- at least, nothing in _this_ world.

"I--"

_"Loyalty, to my King, and the World for the taking."_

"I--"

_"It's a boy, Gilbert, it's a boy!"_

"I _can't_--"

_"Are you sure about this? He doesn't look like he'd take to battle that easily..."_

"_Fritz_-- an--"

_--a kiss to his hand, "Fealty," to his cheek, "Adoration," to his forehead, "Care," to his lips, "Love,"--_

"I--..."

_"For the glory of Prussia!"_

"...Prussia..."

The word fell from his lips, and he slumped forward into Russia's arms. Something like frozen dread crept up Austria's spine, and suddenly, the air didn't seem quite enough for his lungs. His mind had blanked, and the wrongness of the whole scene paralyzed him completely.

"Prussia? _Prussia_, little one, answer me..."

There were footsteps, and the door creaked open--

"Brother!"

Austria stood up and ran past Germany, throwing open the doors and crashing against the nations in the hallway. He had to get away, far, far away where there were no chirping (_there was no chirping_), no proclamations of 'awesomeness' (_there were no proclamations_), and definitely no Prussia (_but Prussia doesn't exist anymore, Roderich_).

He froze, a few paces away from the glass doors.

(_Prussia doesn't exist anymore Roderich_)

(_He doesn't he doesn't he doesn't EXIST_)

(_HE DOESN'T EXIST_)

(_HE'S DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD LIKE HIS KING_)

He could hear Elizaveta calling his name, the curious murmurs from the other nations, the questions, the footsteps, but most of all he could hear

(_so why don't you let me have him Roddie?_)

Prussia's screams.

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_caesura_

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**Author's Notes: **I lied. This is not a double update. Just one chapter, but it's an important chapter nonetheless! :) On other news, summer has arrived and my goal is to write a fic a day. I'm trying to finish my first RaTs table, so in 2 weeks there will be yet another update. This might be the proper schedule of updating for TGN, though if time permits, double updates will be done.

_To whatthehellwasithinking: To review each chapter like that, my gratitude, to you. X3_

_To chibiaries: Format is good now, yes? :D_

_To tatterdemalion: *huddles* Between you and me, it's about to get worse. *grimace*_


	12. Chapter 11: Interlude Another Dream

_~an interlude~_

_He was dreaming, again._

_But it didn't feel like a dream, even though he was fairly certain that it was._

_Roderich was shouting at him, asking him questions he'd long since buried in the back of his mind. And then Ivan, who told him once that he'd hated using his hands to fight, was pulling him off him, throwing him to the ground and landing a punch that would've broken a normal human's arm. _

_Roddie was asking him if he missed his King, his Frederick, if he wanted to be with them, if that was what he dreamt of._

_He wanted to tell him, _How stupid are you, Roddie?

Of course I miss him. Of course I want to be with them.

Where do you think I'd rather be, anyway?

West doesn't need me. Nobody needs me here. Prussia doesn't even exist on the map anymore, I'm just a name in the textbooks, an after thought if someone wants to be politically correct.

What do you think?

_But he couldn't answer. _

_He moans in his sleep, clings needily to whatever is within reach, and wishes fervently that his little Gil-bird was there._


	13. Chapter 12: Echoes

Ludwig had never been more afraid in his entire existence as a personified nation. Not even the World Wars could compare to this.

"Ve, Ludwig..."

He looked up, and saw Italy Veneziano. The usually bubbly nation looked somber, and he held a blanket in his arms. He could hear the voices of the rest of the world beyond the conference door, and yet they weren't ramming their way in. Only he, Veneziano, Russia and his brother seemed to be in the room.

"Feliciano..." he moved to stand from where he was seated, on a chair beside the couch upon which lay the prone figure of his brother, but the nation shook his head and held out the blanket instead.

"Here, for Gilbert."

He took it, nodding his thanks. He draped it over his brother carefully, noting with sickening clarity that he'd done the exact same thing much earlier that day. Since when did he have an irrational fear of his brother falling asleep? _Ever since a demon-bird started calling for him to come to his grave._

"I'll ask America to cancel the rest of the meeting, ve. Brother Spain and Brother France have already shooed most of the other nations away anyway. They'll all be gone in a few minutes."

Turning to him, Ludwig could find no words to express his feelings. Did Feliciano know what he was doing for him?

At this, the smaller nation offered him a small smile. "Ve, there's no need for you to say anything. If you want, you can explain this to me over pasta one day, but I think I must leave you alone for now."

"Little Italy is very generous of his patience." Russia spoke from his chair, on the opposite end of the couch. There was a dark bruise on his cheek, but it was as if he didn't notice this at all. His violet gaze on Veneziano was cool and uncompromising, and Ludwig wanted to say something to stop this- Veneziano wasn't doing them any harm at all.

"Ve." was Veneziano's simple answer. The smile had dropped, but the hand he laid on Ludwig's shoulder was just as warm. "I'll be going now, Ludwig, Ivan."

When he reached the door, he looked back at them, and there was a shadow in his eyes that neither nation had seen before. "This is for Gilbert, isn't it?"

And then the door closed.

.~*~.~*~.~*~.

The glass doors reflected the afternoon sun, but all Austria saw was the image of a young man, his soft eyes contrasting his sharp features. There was a flute in his left hand.

"Roderich?"

He turned, almost achingly slowly, and saw Elizaveta hovering just behind him, worry written clearly on her face.

"Yes, Elizaveta?"

"...Is something wrong?" her voice echoed, and she swam in and out of his vision-- that was when Roderich realized that he was about to lose consciousness. He forced himself to breathe, tensing his body and focusing what remained of his concentration on the dull pain throbbing through his arm.

After a few seconds, he answered, "Nothing's wrong."

He turned back to the glass doors, and saw nothing.

(_He doesn't he doesn't he doesn't EXIST_)

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

"...What happened?"

True to Veneziano's word, the mutterings of the world disappeared after a few minutes, and Ludwig found his voice in the silence that he'd come to hate. Russia looked at him, his eyes looking all of a sudden so weary and, like his, confused.

"Avstriya... asked him questions. Questions about his King."

_His past_, Ludwig thought. He saw Russia cover his face with his hands, and heard the shuddering breath escaping his lips.

"He asked him... if he missed them. If he wanted to... to be with them."

His gaze wandered to his brother's face, undisturbed in his sleep. He could somehow understand why Austria had run, now.

"The little one couldn't answer him."

For a long moment, Ludwig considered the possible implications of a nation suffering from insanity. Because surely that was what was happening to him now-- all he wanted to do was wring Austria's neck, perhaps break it. Ask him why he had to ask those questions. Why he had to topple the shaky foundation that was his brother's grip on this world.

Everyone knew Prussia was dead.

Most especially, Prussia himself.

There was a sudden movement, and Ludwig looked to see Russia heading for the door, his scarf trailing after him.

"I am going to speak with Avstriya." he might as well have said, _I am going to murder him_. Ludwig couldn't find it in himself to stop him. Instead, he called out, "Ivan."

The nation paused, his hand on the doorknob.

"Tonight..." no more had to be said. Ivan nodded, and silently went out.

Tonight was Ivan's turn.

Without looking, Ludwig took his brother's left hand in his.

It was cold, and light. Almost as if it wasn't entirely there.


	14. Chapter 13: Resolution

Austria brushed Elizaveta off with a few mechanically polite words, and went through the glass doors just as Russia arrived at the top of the staircase.

His eyes that bore the color of kings held their symbol's rage, cold and aflame at the same time. He walked down the stairs, heading straight for the door, calmly ignoring the nation that was looking bewilderedly at him.

"Russia? What's going on?" Hungary had not heeded any of Austria's words-- she knew when the nation was lying; she'd been married to him after all.

But never before had she seen him in such a state, not even when Holy Roman Empire died, or when Prussia fought him for Venice alongside the Italy twins. It terrified her, but at the same time she was worried for him.

"Nothing you should concern yourself with, da."

Russia's answer sent a shiver down her spine, and left her standing there long after he'd gone.

.~*~.~*~.~*~.

The crisp afternoon air was doing wonders for Austria's mind, but not for his heart, which was all of a sudden drowning him in emotions he could neither name nor place.

Some of them were more evident, like guilt and regret, but if he was feeling guilty about what he'd said to Prussia, or if he was regretting not asking more, he didn't know.

He could scarcely mind where he was, or where he intended to be, but his feet seemed bent on taking him somewhere secluded, a place where he could sort himself out.

For one thing, he knew he had to apologize.

To Bieldschmidt, to Ludwig, and, yes, even to Russia. War between their governments and their peoples was one thing, but to strike a nation without any rational precedent was something Austria never thought he'd be doing.

Even though he'd sincerely believed that he needed to be shut up, especially since he was talking to Bieldschmidt, not him. A stubborn part of Austria's mind pressed that he wasn't _talking _to Prussia, he was all-out _yelling _at him. And he wasn't even making sense when he did it!

Shaking his head, he moved on to the next thought he could fish out of the clear pool of his mind, preferably one that didn't directly involve the feelings gnawing at his conscience.

It seemed this mental ultimatum didn't help, as he recalled the questions he'd asked of the Prussian.

_"Do you miss them? Do you miss Frederick, your King? Do you want to be with them? Is that what you dream of?"_

Never, in all the years they'd spent running through the forest, chasing after the 'dead' nation, had they actually _asked _Gilbert what he dreamt of. They weren't even sure if he could remember those dreams. Ludwig had never heard his brother speak of such things, save for the occasional bad or good sleep which resulted from the outcome of their adventures with the demon-bird the past night.

But the questions he'd asked-- they'd been on his mind since he was lucid enough to recognize the face from the doorway. He couldn't sleep, but he didn't feel tired when he got up to attend the meeting. It was as if something was feeding the thoughts into his mind--

_"What fun, what fun!"_

Austria's eyes widened.

_"You fight well for a coward..."_

Impossible...

(_What took you so long, Roddie?_)

The voice wasn't just an echo, it was _real_.

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

The late afternoon sunlight played with the contours of Russia's face, which were set in a grim study as he kept his eyes fastened on the path he was sure Austria had taken.

He knew he couldn't let this get out of hand, and that he was better off preparing for the night to come, but Austria's actions in the meeting room had pushed him over the edge of brittle calm that he'd been hovering over ever since Ludwig came in with the little one, who'd never looked any more vulnerable and out of sorts.

He'd never wanted to see him like that ever again.

_"Dammit, get away from me! Let go of me, you bastard!"_

_"No... no... don't take him away from me, please, not my little brother-- Holy Roman Empire..."_

_"West! Get away from there! West! Run, dammit!"_

_"...they're the only ones I've got, you know?"_

Russia's eyes darkened at the memories, and he resolved to have a 'little chat' with the other nation, which he would finish before the sun set over the horizon.

After all, he was doing this for a reason.

_Little one..._

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_caesura_

_+-+-+_

**Author's Notes: **Briefly, I apologize for the delay. I don't have stable internet connections, and net cafe's are too expensive during the summer. I most likely won't be able to update until the latter weeks of May, by which time you will be assaulted by the chapters-- our computer can exist without internet, and so can I. To the lady whom I dedicated this story to, my deepest apologies. To all those who reviewed, my thanks.


	15. Chapter 14: Austria's Silence

Austria stood in the late afternoon shadows, lips pressed into a thin line and violet eyes flashing with what could have been described as anger, if there was anyone at all who would describe it.

The voice in his head was laughing—at his expression, his thoughts, at the fact that it had been far too easy to drive the nation to this state, and even easier to carry on its mad game. Austria bit his tongue against the damning words that strained against his lips, and the demon bird stopped its braying to comment, in tones and accents that sounded like glass against his ears,

(_A good pawn would do just that,_)

His hands spasmed and longed to wrap around that brittle, ghostly neck, and in the stillness of the hidden forest, Austria seethed, and the demon bird spoke on.

(_and nothing else, for what else can it do?_)

He would not speak to it. Whatever words he would say he would sooner have said to Russia, and the only saving grace of it all was that tonight wasn't even his.

(_My, my, Roderich Edelstein! Whatever have you become?_)

Fallen leaves stirred at his feet, but in his rage all he could see was red. Still, he held his tongue; still, he kept silent against the demon bird's caws, tasting the blood in his mouth but seeing the tears on Gilbert's face.

(_Afraid to speak now, Roddy? Afraid you'll scare him again? Oh, you needn't bother,_)

The voice began to fade, as if the bird had simply perched atop his head and was now leaving it to search for a more suitable one. Austria raised his eyes and was not at all surprised to find himself at the edge of the dark forest.

(_Little Gilbert's got himself a knight, a blood-soaked prince, and your wicked tongue's no match for him_)

Austria wonders how much of it was real, when Russia steps out from the thickly woven trees, murder in his eyes, and as before, he was not surprised when he realized that none of it ever was.

The leaves underfoot sat undisturbed, the crisp autumn air nipping bitter kisses along their bodies and the moment their eyes met the scene froze in time, the shadows pulled away and Austria was left as one who had just woken from a dream.

_Prussia_

_.~*~.~*~.~*~._

Ludwig held his brother's hand, wincing as another feeble moan escaped his lips, then syllables that sounded like names, except that he knew none of them. Soon, he would take him away from here, back to their home, to a familiar place—

The nation stifled a sob, pressing Prussia's cold, pale (_dead_) knuckles to his forehead muttering words that could have been a prayer, had it held any hope at all.

If it had been heard, they who listen would only be able to make out a few phrases, all as desperate and pleading as the last, only to be summed up in the end in four words:

_Please do not go_


	16. Chapter 15: At Dusk

Russia has dreamed of standing like this, just like this, in front of the demon bird. If not in his dreams, he contents himself with mirrors and windows, perhaps a clear lake. The image never changes. It should be worrying, that he should stand like this in front of a comrade—but the other nation had done something Russia would not be able to forgive so easily.

He stands as tall as he is able to be, shoulders set and cold fury in every line. His eyes do not narrow, only fade; only sharpen, as good weapons are meant to do. There is no color in his cheeks, vengeance has chilled his blood, and his hands lie at his sides, waiting.

"Avstriya."

The other nation jerks as if pulled from a trance, and by the sight of the shadows slithering away, it is a logical assumption. He raises a hand to his eyes, to his lips, and stares indifferently at the blood on his fingertips before speaking, his voice a raspy whisper.

"What do you want, Braginsky?"

_Your head, on a silver platter, with your tongue cut off_

"Stay away from the little one."

The words are spoken with authority, and Austria is smart enough to be able to hear the malicious wish veiled in his command, but he is still not lucid enough to avoid it.

"He is not a princess, Braginsky, andbut you are still a beast."

AAnd almost sweetly, Russia replies, "No, that is _you_."

Here Austria cringes, and the other nation relishes the look on his face, as if it were a mark, like the one Austria had given him not too long ago. Russia walks towards him, crushing dead leaves in his wake, the sound enough like breaking brittle bones that Austria is having trouble remembering why they should not fight.

"_Do you miss them?"_

"_What… do you mean?"_

_I didn't mean anything_

"Avstriya, I need to speak with you." He must try to be patient, Russia reminds himself. The little one would not want them to fight again, it would accomplish nothing. _Perhaps, _he inwardly agrees, _but what the little one does not know, what he cannot hear, cannot hurt him._

He misses the nuances in Russia's tone, instead hearing his own—detached and feather light, saying, _He couldn't speak at all._

_He tried, but he couldn't_

"What you did today was unacceptable—"

"Is he alright…?"

_He was so pale, so weak_

_What if he was dying, all over again?_

"Braginsky, I asked you a question—"

Russia snapped.

"N-yet!"

Austria raised his head at the force behind the word, just in time to see Russia's frail façade break, exposing the raw anger he'd been keeping in check.

"N-yet! He is_ not_ alright, he has _never_ been alright—we have all just pretended, but today you, _you_…"

In Russia's mind he sees they who sleep the sleep of kings, and in his mind Russia weeps. _No one could wake them, not even him._

He takes a shuddering breath, steeling himself against the shocked look in Austria's eyes, the only part of him that seemed inclined to move at all.

"For what you did to him, I should kill you," the other nation stated quite coldly, and Austria had enough of his wits about him to see that Russia did not lie. His back straightened, but Russia had turned his gaze away. He spoke quietly,

"But you have a name that you call him by… It is your name, and we have sworn long ago to honor that…" he gives the silent nation a cold once-over, as if searching for the chinks in his armor. Austria meets his gaze head on, still guardless, still dazed, but no longer out of his depth. Russia had done what this 'afternoon stroll' could not—he'd reminded him why things had suddenly spiraled out of control.

_The name, his name, my name—the name I call him by._

_The name he would not hear._

Beyond Austria's frail form, Russia stares at the setting sun.

"Tonight is mine, da."

And with that, he walked off, crushed leaves underfoot and faintly, Austria hears the screaming.

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_caesura_

**Author's Notes: **My apologies for the lateness of these two meager chapters. ;_; I need to keep my GPA up. Though, with midterms coming up, I'll need to burn off some creative juices. ^o^ But rejoice! The ending is clear now! :) I hope you enjoy these chapters, the next will come sometime in August.


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